


No.31 Whipped

by LiGi



Series: Whumptober 2020 [31]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood, Evil Prince, Hurt Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Hurt Merlin (Merlin), Pain, Protective Knights (Merlin), Torture, Tortured, Violence, Whipped, Whipping, Whump, Whumptober 2020, chained, could be Merthur, i'm not sure, kinda graphic, no 31, not overly graphic but more than canon typical
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:08:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28047453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiGi/pseuds/LiGi
Summary: Whumpober 2020 no 31 - Torture/WhippedKing Arthur has been captured by an evil prince who wants Camelot for himself.
Relationships: Knights of the Round Table & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Knights of the Round Table & Merlin (Merlin), Lancelot & Merlin (Merlin), Leon & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Series: Whumptober 2020 [31]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2053113
Comments: 2
Kudos: 70





	No.31 Whipped

**Author's Note:**

> So here's the last of my whumptober fics! It is slightly darker and more violent than the others... but with a happy ending....

**No. 31 – Torture / Whipped**

Arthur was woken by the swish and crack of a whip. He jerked, trying to look around to find the source of the noise. He was in a small vaulted hall, clean white stone on the floor and heavy wooden shutters pulled over windows. Torch brackets dotted the walls at regular intervals but only the few closest to Arthur were lit.

He was on his knees on the cold stone floor, his back held upright by chains pulling his arms out to either side, secured to strong pillars that soared up to the high ceiling. His head was heavy, lolling down onto his bare chest.

He heard the whip crack again and struggled to lift and turn his head and see over his shoulder. He could just make out a figure, standing beyond the light of the torches.

“Who’s there?” he shouted. His voice was hoarse and made him cough, straining his shoulders as his body tried to curl up.

He cried out in agony as the man pulled the chains tighter, yanking Arthur’s arms out straighter.

“Show yourself, coward!” he yelled, ignoring how it sent pain burning up his throat.

Footsteps and the man came around in front of him, still not quite in the light. Arthur squinted, but his aching head couldn’t focus on the man in the gloom. He saw glinting rings on his hand and the hilt of an elaborately jewelled dagger at his belt. The toe of one smart black boot tapped casually.

He flicked the whip again, cracking it against the flagstone floor. Then drew the leather slowly through his fingers, coiling it around his thumb while he spoke.

“Hello, Arthur. I hope you’re enjoying our hospitality.”

He stepped closer into the pool of torchlight and Arthur growled. It was Prince Gahariet of Gwynedd. He grinned slowly, his teeth flashing in his neat black beard.

“Bastard,” Arthur spat at him.

Gahariet frowned, raised an eyebrow and flicked the whip gently. It just brushed Arthur’s face, not hard enough to cut but still he flinched backwards. Gahariet slid it through his fingers again.

“I don’t like your tone.”

“I don’t like your face,” Arthur retorted. It was a silly petty insult, but Arthur revelled in the scowl it brought to Gahariet.

He stormed forwards, getting up close to Arthur and pulling out his dagger. It was ridiculously showy, more for ceremony than practicality. Arthur had always hated weapons like that. A truly beautiful dagger to him was one with clean sharp lines, a long elegant blade and solid sensible grip. Light enough to throw but sturdy enough to stab. The jewels on Gahariet’s dagger’s hilt looked heavy, they’d throw out the balance of the blade.

Arthur stopped assessing the dagger as it was pressed to his cheek, just below his eye. No matter how ostentatious, the blade was still razor sharp.

“I don’t like your face either, shall I carve it up a bit?” Gahariet spat.

“What do you want, Gahariet?” Arthur asked, trying to remain calm.

Gahariet sighed. “My father will be dead soon, and I’ll be king. Imagine how much my people will love me if my first act as king is to bring Camelot’s lands into our kingdom. And without its king” – he slid the dagger down Arthur’s face and tucked it under his jaw, pressing into soft flesh – “Camelot will be ripe for the picking.”

Arthur ground his teeth. “You’re going to kill me?”

The dagger was removed from Arthur’s throat as Gahariet grinned again. “Not yet. I want to have some fun first.”

He sheathed the dagger in his belt and stood up, coiling the whip around his wrist. He sidled around the pillar holding Arthur’s chains. Arthur tried to crane around to keep Gahariet within his sight, but the prince shoved his head back forwards, flexing his fingers around the handle of the whip.

Every muscle in Arthur’s back tensed, knowing what was coming. It didn’t. The pause dragged out, Arthur’s muscles clenching further with every second. Until he thought perhaps Gahariet had gone. His own heartbeat was the only sound he could hear, drumming in his ears.

And then a whip crack echoed through the hall.

The sting was excruciating. Tears sprang to his eyes and he gasped loud, arching his back away from Gahariet as best as the chains would allow him. Gahariet laughed and another crack preceded another sharp sting to his shoulders. Pain radiated across his back, lighting it on fire.

“Remember when we were young, Arthur?” Gahariet trailed his fingers over Arthur’s back, pressing when he reached the whip mark. Arthur cried out. “Our fathers used to meet for treaty talks with all of the other kings… And we were sent to practice our weapons together. You were always the best among us. Even though you were one of the youngest. Well…” He crouched at Arthur’s side, giving him a sad smile. He shrugged. “Now look at you.”

Arthur writhed, pulling his shoulders painfully, swearing and struggling.

“Stuck like a fly in a spider’s web,” Gahariet chuckled.

He tucked the whip into his belt and moved to Arthur’s side, his hand sliding along the chain that held Arthur’s left arm to the pillar. His face twisted, curious about an idea, and he took the chain in both hands. He turned to face Arthur, braced his feet against the floor and held the chain like he was about to compete in a tug-of-war. Then yanked it, putting his whole weight into the pull.

Arthur screamed, his shoulder dislocating with a sickening pop. His head sagged, tears now pouring down his face unbidden. Gahariet let go of the chain and dusted his hands off. He came over and poked Arthur’s shoulder.

“Huh, I wasn’t sure that would work.” He nodded, pleased with himself.

Arthur tried desperately not to make a noise. He pulled gasped breaths in through his teeth. His heart was hammering, each beat sending throbs of pain through his dislocated shoulder.

The whip made a hissing slithering noise as Gahariet dragged it along the floor behind him. He swished it against the floor a few times, then without warning cracked it down on Arthur’s back again. Arthur gritted his teeth, pulling his lips between them. He was adamant he would not give Gahariet the satisfaction of hearing his scream again.

But after several more lashes of the whip he couldn’t stop the whimper. Gahariet crouched behind him, his hand cool on Arthur’s burning skin.

“Sorry,” he purred mockingly in Arthur’s ear. Arthur tried to flinch away from him, but that sent white hot agony screaming through his shoulder. “Do you want a break?” He came around in front of Arthur, patting his cheek in a cruelly friendly way. “I’ll stop hurting you… But who else could I hurt instead?”

Dread filled Arthur’s stomach, rising like bile up his throat.

“Do you want to watch me flog your servant?” Gahariet asked casually, clicking his fingers.

“NO!”

Two guards entered the room, dragging Merlin between them. Arthur shouted as they threw him to the floor at Gahariet’s feet. He dismissed them with a wave.

Merlin looked barely conscious, he’d been stripped to his smallclothes and blood marred his face. Thick ropes held his wrists crossed over his chest. Gahariet crouched, running a hand through Merlin’s hair and yanking his head back. Merlin groaned.

“Hello, Arthur’s servant. Look at your king.” He pulled Merlin’s head up to look at Arthur.

“No,” Merlin whimpered, his eyes blearily focussing on Arthur. Tears spilled down his face. He tried to move his hands, his fingers reaching. Gahariet kicked him in the back. Merlin yelped and fell to the floor.

Standing up, Gahariet pulled the whip through his fingers. He tilted his head, regarding Merlin as he tried to scrabble across the floor towards Arthur. He put a foot on Merlin’s leg, holding him still.

“What’s a good number?” He smirked at Arthur and tapped his chin in mock thought. “How about ten, ten to start with, yes?”

He yanked Merlin up onto his knees, ignoring Arthur’s yelled protests. He took a step back and extended his arm, checking the distance between himself and Merlin. Grinning, he nodded.

“Ready? Count for me, Arthur.”

He lifted his arm slowly, eyes fixed on Arthur’s as his hand snapped down, the whip cracking as it struck Merlin. Merlin gasped and flinched but didn’t scream. Arthur felt furious pride swell in his heart. He’d always known Merlin was braver than he looked.

Gahariet didn’t look happy. His lip curled and he glared at Arthur as he stepped closer to him again. The whip slashed horizontally, catching Arthur across his side, pain shooting over his ribs.

“I said _count_!”

Arthur kept his mouth firmly shut.

Gahariet growled, moving to stand right over Merlin. His arm raised and fell in a rapid flurry of blows. Stripes of blood appeared over Merlin’s back, his arms. He toppled sideways, his head ducking into the vague shelter of his tied wrists. Gahariet kept whipping, snarling as he did. The thin cloth of Merlin’s smallclothes ripped as the whip slashed the back of his thighs, blood seeping into the white fabric.

“Stop it!” The words tore from Arthur’s lips. Louder than any of his other shouts. It was the voice he used on the battlefield, the one his knights responded to immediately. Gahariet’s arm jerked, it was ingrained into his instinct to listen to such a voice just as much as it was in Arthur’s.

“No,” he said coldly, overcoming the instinct and lashing Merlin again.

And again and again. Merlin was quivering, crying and screaming and covered in blood by the time Gahariet finally stopped. Something in Arthur broke, he writhed against his chains, not noticing how they tugged his dislocated shoulder, not caring that his whole torso was blazing agony.

“I’ll kill you!” Arthur screamed.

Gahariet laughed again and let the whip slip from his fingers. He wiped sweat from his brow and massaged his whip arm. “Will you? How?” He gestured to the chains.

Arthur roared, struggling further until blackness began seeping into his vision.

“No, no, no, no…” Gahariet crouched in front of Arthur, cupping his face in both hands and holding him still. “Careful. You don’t want to make yourself pass out and miss all the fun.”

Arthur spat in Gahariet’s face. Gahariet slapped him, swiping the blood tinged spit from his face with a grimace. He pulled his dagger again and drew it down Arthur’s ribs. Arthur didn’t even have the strength to flinch away from the blade.

Merlin had stopped screaming, stopped moving. Arthur fixed his eyes on him, trying to tell if his chest was rising and falling. Tears obscured his sight.

“He’s going to die, Arthur,” Gahariet sang softly.

Arthur wanted to fight, wanted to reach Merlin. He gave a futile struggle but his muscles were so weak from his previous attempt that he could barely even make the chains rattle.

The furious ache in his back was trying to pull him under. His head drooped, too heavy and painful to lift. He blinked slowly. Gahariet’s spiteful smile swam before his face. Gahariet tipped his head to the side, a questioning tilt to his eyebrows.

“How does it feel, _King_ Arthur? Ruling over all of Camelot?” He swirled the dagger over Arthur’s chest, absentmindedly drawing patterns. “Will I enjoy it?”

“Camelot will never be yours,” Arthur rasped.

“We’ll see.” He laughed. “Well, _you_ won’t.”

He jammed the dagger into the soft flesh under Arthur’s ribs. Arthur grunted, jerking back from the force. He coughed, his whole body spasming, sending more arrows of pain everywhere. Gahariet drew the dagger out slowly, holding it up so Arthur could see the blood dripping off the blade.

“Pendragon red,” he whispered close to Arthur’s ear.

Sudden shouting from outside the hall made Gahariet pull back. Thudding and clanging of swords echoed through the door. He scowled and leapt to his feet.

“Guards!”

The door burst open and Arthur could have wept. Instead of Gahariet’s guards, Sir Leon stormed into the room, closely followed by Lancelot, Gwaine, Percival and Elyan. Their swords were bloody and all raised to point at Gahariet.

“Get away from our king,” Leon snarled.

Gahariet screamed, brandishing his dagger. He’d always been a coward when outnumbered.

With a wild battle cry, Gwaine leapt forwards, his sword swinging up and halting sharply, pressed against the underside of Gahariet’s jaw. Gahariet’s dagger dropped to the floor, his hands rising to shoulder height, open palmed.

“Please, no!” he yelped.

Gwaine growled. Percival and Leon joined him, Percival’s long claymore pressing forcefully down on Gahariet’s shoulder until he fell to his knees, crying.

Lancelot was on the floor at Merlin’s side, gently rolling him over and feeling his chest. He leant his ear over Merlin’s mouth than sat up with a relieved smile pulling the corners of his lips. Looking directly at Arthur, he nodded. Arthur let out a thankful whimper, more tears streaming over his cheeks.

Elyan hurried over to the pillar where the chain holding Arthur’s left arm was secured. They clinked and jangled and suddenly there was nothing holding his arm up anymore.

Leon was there to catch him as he fell forwards. His dislocated arm flopped excruciatingly, the weight of the manacle pulling it down. Leon supported him as Elyan unchained his other arm as well.

Gwaine kicked Gahariet, who sobbed, digging in his pockets for a key which he tossed to Elyan. Leon carefully held Arthur’s wrists as Elyan removed the manacles then between them they helped him to his feet.

Arthur’s legs crumpled, his knees weak. But Leon’s arm was strong around his back. He tried to ignore how the chainmail pressed into the lashes.

“Easy,” Leon muttered. “I’ve got you. We’re getting you out of here.”

“Leon,” was all Arthur managed to say, but he thought Leon probably understood his gratitude. He was his oldest friend, the closest he had to a brother.

With Leon’s help Arthur staggered to where Merlin was still lying on his side on the floor. His head was in Lancelot’s lap, the knight holding him carefully as his fingers hovered above his side, assessing his injuries without touching the mess of blood and flayed skin that was Merlin’s back.

“How is he?” Arthur asked Lancelot. His voice was weak and he had to force the words out but he needed to know.

“He’ll be alright, he’s strong. It’ll be painful getting him out of here, there’s barely an inch of his back not harmed. But…” Lancelot trailed off sadly.

Arthur gritted his teeth against the anger that swelled in his chest. He limped around to face Gahariet, hatred clouding his vision. He wanted nothing more than to kill the man cowering under Percival’s blade. Bodily rip him limb from limb. Flay him like Merlin and leave him to rot.

He didn’t have the strength. He could order his knights to do it. From the looks on their faces any one of them would happily carry out the order.

There was a shallow cut through the shoulder of Gahariet’s doublet; the only evidence Percival had touched him with the sword. It was clearly a sign of Percival’s self-restraint because Arthur knew if Percival had used even the tiniest bit of his full strength the claymore would have gone clean through down his chest. The gash on the underside of his jaw showed Gwaine didn’t have the same restraint.

“Chain him,” Arthur mumbled, sagging against Leon.

Percival dragged Gahariet up and Elyan and Gwaine secured the manacles around his wrists, Gwaine pulling them tight as they had been on Arthur, a malicious grimace on his face. Gahariet screamed, which just made Gwaine tug harder.

“Elyan?” Arthur pointed to Gahariet’s stupid ornate dagger on the floor. Elyan picked it up and pressed the hilt into Arthur’s hand, making sure Arthur’s fingers had a good grip before he moved his hand away.

Arthur limped forwards and plunged it as deep as his strength would allow into the prince’s thigh. Gahariet threw his head back and screamed louder. He writhed against the chains but Gwaine had secured them too tight.

“Don’t kill me!” he shrieked.

Arthur twisted the dagger, drawing another sobbed yell from him. Then let go, leaving the dagger planted in his thigh.

“Remember this,” Arthur rasped. “I spared your life.”

He turned his back on the stunned prince, limping towards the door. Leon wrapped an arm around him again, taking his weight. Lancelot had hoisted Merlin carefully into Percival’s arms. They left, ignoring Gahariet’s begging, pleading screams.

Gahariet’s men had all fled, as cowardly as their prince. As Leon helped him down a step, Arthur had never felt more honoured at the loyalty of his knights and his servant.

His friends. His brothers.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!! I hope you liked all of these! I absolutely love any and all comments!
> 
> (Let me know if you think it needs a graphic violence archive warning, I'm new on Ao3 so I'm not sure what classifies as very graphic?)


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